


Fallen

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8388676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: A fluffy little drabble. I’m not going to pretend this isn’t totally sappy - a hunter retires and an angel falls.





	

The fall breeze is crisp and bracing as you peer out across the sun-dappled valley stretching to the horizon. Set aflutter by the churn of cool air winding to loosen swept up locks, wisps of hair slip free to caress your numbing cheeks and tickle your lashes. The wind tugs at the knit of your thick cable sweater, wending into the tight spaces between the rugged weave. Hugging your arms to your chest for warmth, you absentmindedly note the gold glint of sunlight reflecting off the windshield of a car careering its way through the gully below. Breathing in the brisk air, you sit on the peeling white paint of the topmost porch stair. You make mental note to repaint the step before the snow flies lest the wood suffer exposure to the unforgiving elements. Fingertips feeling for the heft of the cell in your pocket, you withdraw it to rest in your palm. You swipe the screen, hoping for a message from Cas – disappointed, as with each time you’ve checked, to find nothing. He’s been radio silent for months, ever since you broke his heart.

It happened just after a hunt, one that nearly cost you your life – the moment you decided to get out of the game for good. Cas caught you by surprise as you packed your few belongings from the bunker. Confessing his love for you, imploring you to stay, he promised to watch over you. In truth, you loved him too – love him _still_ – but you also want something normal, a life and a family you know you can’t have with an angel whose loyalty is rent between two worlds. Tears blearing your eyes, you told him as much.

Lids shuttering, lashes wetly brining at the memory, you perceive with pained clarity the hurt in his blue eyes as he averts them from yours. You feel the clamminess of your hand – the absence of his heat, the unfilled gaps between your fingers – when he drops it from his grasp. You hear the rejection roughening his tone, the last words he utters to you before vanishing a strained, “ _I understand_.”

Shivering, you rub your arms, willing away the coldness of the remembrance and the autumn air with friction. Standing, you inhale, letting the emptiness of the porch and the absolute quiet of the property around sink into your pores, course through your veins, and weigh heavy on your heart. You hold the breath until your lungs are living fire and your heart pounds a volcanic lament of _so much for the normal life_.

The rumble of a car on the long stone drive breaks through the silent conflagration burning your body. Shielding your eyes from the setting sun, you spin and amble down toward the driveway wondering if, perhaps, Sam and Dean are finally making good on their promise to drop by for a visit.

Blinking into the blinding fiery light, the familiar outline of Cas’ trench coat greets you.

“Hello Y/N.” He nods with a compact smile, vessel blocking the sunset as he nears, rays of light bursting in a beaming halo around him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Cas!” You bound forward, closing the distance, leaping to engulf him in your arms. Burying your face into his neck, tear-stained cheeks dewy against his unshaven skin, you murmur, “I missed you.”

“As did I you.” Nose tucking into the messy mass of your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of you, he returns the embrace but does not yield entirely to your affection. Muscles tense, limbs rigid, he fidgets in your grasp. His words emerge halting, uncertain, “I’m sorry…sorry for my absence, but…but there was much to do before…I mean…while I-”

“Cas, are you okay?” you ask. Inclining backward, squeezing him by the shoulders, you search the blue pools of his irises – it’s not like the angel to stumble for words with you. Nor is it like him to require a vehicle for transportation when he could easily fly. Worry floods your mind. “Did you _drive_ here? What happened-”

He interrupts, “Yes, I _drove_. And _yes_ , I’m okay.” Regard tender, eyes soft with amusement yet flecked at the edges with tiny sparks of nervous energy, he meets your questioning gaze. Sucking in a quick gasp of air, stowing his resolve to reveal his reason for coming, he fumbles in his pocket. Fingers finding what they seek, he removes a folded fist and proffers you an engraved trinket box on his palm.

With a curious smile curling the corner of your mouth, you accept it.

Watching your fingertips trace the etched ancient lettering of the box in awe, he whispers, “It’s Enochian. A binding spell.”

Your eyes flit upward to meet his, inquiring with an astonished mute gleam: _What is this, angel? What does it mean?_

He steadies your trembling fingers with a clasp of his own. They are warmer than your memory. Solid and real. He speaks the gentle instruction, “Look inside.”

Focus shifting to the intricate box, you flip the top open to discover a ring – the center stone emits brilliant azure light from within and the band is encircled by ebony wings. “Cas-” Constricted by a swell of emotion rising from your heart, his name hitches in your throat.

“My grace, it’s-” he offers in a gravelly whisper. He studies your reaction – the well of tears brimming dark lashes, the quiver of a smile dancing on your lips, the pink tinting your cheeks. “It’s _yours_.”

“ _Mine_?” You brush a finger over the stone, the power contained within resonating in response to your delicate touch. Shaking your head, you stare up at him, wide-eyed, disbelieving he’s suggesting he gave up everything – his celestial power – for you.

As though reading your thoughts, he goes on, “As it turns out, in all of creation an angel has the unique distinction of being able to fall both figuratively from Heaven and literally in love,” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “Y/N, I _fell_ for you. Chose _you_.”

Tears streaming to salt your lips, you snap the box shut and thrust it back at his chest. “I-I _understand_. But-”

“Oh,” he chokes. Misinterpreting your action, his gaze drops. Sullen, heart visibly sinking with the slouch of his shoulders, he perceives your words as a second rejection of his outpouring of love.

“Castiel.” You stroke his stubbly chin to reassure him. Threading your fingers through the curls tickling the nape of his neck, you lean forward, lifting on tip-toes to press a feather-light kiss to the plump pout of his lips. Mouth ghosting a fond sigh of heated breath all along the line of his jaw to his ear, you murmur, “When a _man_ gives a ring to the woman he loves, there’s usually a question attached. And my answer is _yes_. I choose _you_.” Snuffling a kiss to his cheek, you offer up your hand.

His face brightens, a smile blossoming across his features to crinkle the skin of his eyes and nose. Plucking the ring from the box, he slides it onto your finger. Slipping his hand around your waist, he pulls you firm to the column of his body to capture your lips with his.


End file.
